My planet is infested with Goblins

The metallic rings surrounding Noah slowed for the first time since the acceleration began.

Their movement did not stop entirely, but the blinding streams of divine inscriptions faded into steady lines of pale light. The pressure surrounding Noah’s Planet Seed weakened, allowing him to separate individual events from the seemingly endless births, deaths, seasons, and conflicts.

One full day had passed inside the chamber.

One hundred years had passed on his awakened planet.

Noah released a slow breath and opened his eyes. His body remained seated at the center of the raised platform, but most of his consciousness hovered high above the goblin world.

The planet beneath him was familiar and completely changed.

Forests had expanded in some regions and retreated in others. Rivers had shifted their courses. New lakes filled valleys that had once been dry, while an old section of the central river had become a marsh. The four branches of the Mother Mana Vein continued spreading beneath the continents, gradually thickening the world’s ambient mana.

The goblin’s societal structure had changed as well.

None of the first generation goblins remained alive.

The torn-eared goblin who had once organized the original tribe’s defense had died more than sixty years earlier. The hunters who had fought beside him, the females who had carried the first children, and even the youngest goblins transported by Noah had all become memories.

Yet their descendants remained.

The fewer than two hundred goblins Noah had divided across the world had grown into a population numbering in the tens of thousands. Their settlements were scattered across rivers, valleys, mountains, forests, and coastlines. Most were still small and primitive, but the species was no longer one frightened tribe struggling through its first night.

Four distinct goblin peoples had emerged.

On the central continent, the descendants of the original settlement occupied a wide valley enclosed by wooden walls. Their oldest village still stood beside the river and rocky slope where the torn-eared goblin had planted the first defensive stakes.

The settlement had been rebuilt multiple times. Floods had destroyed its earliest shelters, fires had consumed entire sections of the area, and rival chiefs had fought over its walls. The crude barrier of sharpened branches had become a thick wooden palisade reinforced with packed earth and stone.

Several smaller villages surrounded it.

The central goblins were more numerous than the other populations. Their access to forests, rivers, grasslands, and fertile soil allowed them to expand in every direction. They still possessed the thin limbs, sharp ears, and green skin of their ancestors, but they were healthier and slightly larger.

Their oral traditions spoke of the First Chief, a clever goblin with a broken ear who had saved the tribe from night beasts.

The details had changed with every generation.

Some stories claimed the First Chief had defeated an entire pack alone. Others said a voice from the sky had taught him how to build the first wall. A few insisted he had been born from the wind itself.

Noah knew the truth, but he did not correct them.

The northern continent had produced a different people.

The goblins who lived there were shorter and broader, with thicker muscles and patches of coarse hair along their arms, shoulders, and backs. Their skin had darkened toward gray-green, helping them blend into stone and pine forests.

They built settlements around caves and natural hot springs. Every northern village maintained a central flame that was never allowed to die. According to their elders, the first flame had been left by the Warm One when their ancestors appeared in the frozen valley.

Northern goblins treated firekeepers with almost as much respect as chiefs. Allowing a sacred flame to go out was considered a terrible offense, especially during winter.

Their population was smaller because of the harsh climate, but they were physically strong and accustomed to hunger. They hunted thick-furred animals across snowfields and preserved meat by freezing it inside caves.

To the south, the goblins had become much leaner.

Long legs and narrow bodies helped them move through wetlands and tangled jungles. Many painted their skin with plant dyes that repelled insects or concealed their scent from predators. Their villages stood on wooden platforms above rivers and flooded ground, connected by narrow bridges.

They worshipped Noah as the Hidden Hunter.

Their legends claimed an unseen presence controlled the movement of beasts. Before a major hunt, southern goblins left blood, teeth, and pieces of meat beneath trees marked with an open eye.

Their continent remained the most dangerous.

Mana from the southern branch had strengthened several species of reptiles. Some had developed scales capable of resisting stone weapons, while others produced weak venom or bursts of heated breath. Entire goblin settlements had disappeared after attracting the attention of the wrong creature.

The survivors had become cautious, patient, and skilled at using poison.

Across the ocean, the isolated goblins had developed without contact with the other three populations.

Their skin was lighter from generations spent beneath the dense shade of ancient forests. They built villages beside lakes, wide rivers, and sheltered coasts. Fish, shellfish, fruit, and small forest animals formed the foundation of their food supply.

Their ancestors’ transportation had become the central story of their existence.

They believed the Great Light had carried the first goblins across an endless darkness and placed them beside sacred water. Their chiefs wore polished white stones around their necks to represent that light.

The isolated goblins were the first to construct crude boats.

Their earliest vessels were simple bundles of reeds tied together with plant fibers. Later generations hollowed out tree trunks with fire and stone tools. They had not yet crossed the ocean, but they moved along rivers and coastlines, founding settlements far from the original lake.

Noah observed all four continents through his divine perception.

One Percent Genius had continued working silently.

Across the century, exceptional goblins had been born among every population. Some became chiefs, healers, hunters, or builders. One northern goblin invented a better method of trapping heat inside shelters. A southern poison-maker discovered how to combine several plants into a paste capable of weakening large reptiles. An isolated goblin developed woven nets strong enough to capture entire schools of fish.

Not every gifted goblin improved the lives of others.

Some used their intelligence to deceive rivals or seize control of food supplies. One central chief united three villages through carefully planned assassinations before dying when his own guards copied his methods. A northern goblin created more effective hunting traps, then used them against another tribe during a dispute over winter territory.

The planetary characteristic produced exceptional intelligence, not goodness.

More concerning was how often knowledge disappeared.

The goblins had no true writing. They passed discoveries through demonstration, memory, and stories. When a skilled hunter died without teaching an apprentice, decades of experience could vanish. When settlements were destroyed, survivors often carried little more than weapons and frightened children.

Progress continued, but it was uneven among goblin tribes.

The growth of faith was more reliable.

Thin streams of pale energy rose from settlements across the planet and gathered within Noah’s Planet Seed. The amount produced by any individual goblin remained tiny, yet thousands of believers created a constant flow.

Their faith did not possess a single form.

The central tribes prayed to the Lord of Wind and Walls. The northern goblins worshipped the Keeper of the First Flame. The southern settlements honored the Hidden Hunter, while the isolated tribes followed the Great Light Beyond the Sky.

Every name or sign eventually leads to Noah.

Their understanding was imperfect, but the divine connection recognized their worship.

For the first time, Noah felt that his planet had begun supporting him rather than merely consuming his attention and resources. The Faith Points were still insignificant compared with those generated by established civilizations, but the flow would continue growing with the population.

He could already imagine millions of goblins spread across the world.

Before that could happen, they needed stable food.

During the early decades, all four populations had relied upon hunting and gathering. Goblin bands followed animal tracks through forests, collected roots and fruit, and fought over the richest territories.

Their methods improved with every generation.

The central goblins dug pits along common animal trails and covered them with branches and leaves. Hunters drove prey toward the traps using fire, noise, and sharpened spears. The method was dangerous, but it allowed small goblins to kill animals far larger than themselves.

Northern hunters used the snow.

They followed large furred beasts for days, preventing them from resting until exhaustion slowed them. Bone-tipped spears were driven into the animals from several directions, and almost every part of a kill was used. Meat became food, hides became clothing, bones became tools, and fat fed the sacred fires.

Southern goblins rarely fought powerful prey directly.

They coated darts and spearheads with poison, then followed wounded animals until they collapsed. They also constructed narrow passages between sharpened stakes, guiding predators into places where their size became a disadvantage.

On the isolated continent, fishing became more important than hunting.

The goblins learned to weave plant fibers into nets, carve hooks from bone, and build fences in shallow water that trapped fish when the tide withdrew. Their boats allowed them to reach islands and feeding grounds unavailable from the shore.

These methods supported growing populations, but hunting remained unreliable.

A single harsh winter could drive northern herds away. Floods ruined southern gathering grounds. Overhunting emptied forests around the central settlements, while violent storms prevented isolated fishermen from leaving the shore.

The first steps toward farming began almost by accident.

A central goblin named Rek discovered that plants grew from seeds discarded near the settlement. Rek was small and physically weak, making him a poor hunter. Other goblins mocked him for spending his days examining weeds and digging through piles of waste.

He continued anyway.

Rek collected the largest seeds from edible grasses and buried them in cleared soil beside the river. Most failed to grow. Animals ate others, and several young goblins trampled an entire patch during a fight.

The plants that survived produced more seeds.

Rek planted those.

Every season, he selected the strongest plants and protected them with crude fences. His work did not produce enough food to feed the tribe during his lifetime, but his children continued the practice.

Several generations later, broad fields stretched beyond the central settlement’s walls.

Farming spread slowly.

The southern goblins began planting edible roots near their raised villages. The isolated tribes moved fruit-bearing plants closer to their settlements and learned to protect young trees. Northern goblins struggled because of the short summers, but they cultivated a hardy grain in valleys warmed by underground springs.

Animal husbandry developed beside farming.

At first, goblins captured young animals only because they were easier to kill later. A trapped creature represented meat that could not escape into the forest.

Over time, they noticed other benefits.

Central goblins enclosed small horned animals that reproduced quickly and survived on grass. Their meat became an emergency supply during poor harvests, while their hides were used for clothing and containers.

Northern tribes tamed slow-moving furred beasts capable of carrying supplies through snow. The southern goblins raised large flightless birds for eggs, feathers, and meat. On the isolated continent, goblins built stone barriers in shallow water and began raising fish instead of relying entirely upon wild populations.

Food became more accessible.

Permanent supplies allowed settlements to grow larger. Not every goblin needed to spend each day searching for something to eat. Some could specialize as toolmakers, builders, healers, guards, or religious figures.

The change also created conflict.

Hunters had once held the highest positions in most tribes. They brought meat, defended settlements, and proved their strength against dangerous creatures. Farming weakened their importance.

A field could feed more goblins than a successful hunt, but it required patience, routine, and protection. Young goblins who once would have followed hunting bands were ordered to clear land, repair fences, carry water, and watch domesticated animals.

Many obeyed because the chiefs demanded it.

Others believed the tribes were becoming weak.

The disagreement was strongest in the central settlement, where the population had grown beyond what nearby hunting grounds could support. Chief Drok, a broad-shouldered descendant of the First Chief’s bloodline, ordered several hunting bands to spend part of each season clearing fields and defending animal enclosures.

The decision prevented famine.

It also enraged the old warriors.

As the hundredth year approached its end, Noah directed his attention toward the central chief’s hall.

The structure was built from thick wood and packed clay. Animal skulls hung from the walls beside bundles of dried grain. Hunters, farmers, guards, and elders crowded inside while rain struck the roof.

At the center sat Chief Drok.

Before him stood Elder Vargan, one of the oldest surviving hunters in the tribe. Scars crossed his face and arms, and the teeth of great beasts hung from the staff in his hand.

Vargan struck the staff against the floor.

"Our strongest younglings no longer follow the tracks," he growled. "They dig holes. They carry water. They spend their days protecting animals becoming too weak to survive outside a fence."

Murmurs spread through the hall.

Chief Drok remained seated.

"The fields fed us when the herds migrates to the east," he said.

"The herds migrated because the hunters were taken from the forest."

"The tribe has grown larger. Hunting alone cannot afford to feed everyone."

Vargan’s yellow eyes narrowed.

"Our ancestors survived through fang, spear, and courage. Now our young bend their backs in the dirt and feed animals that should be feeding us."

He raised his staff and pointed toward the fields beyond the settlement walls.

"This is not the path our tribe was meant to follow."

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